


The Five Times Mark Darcy Danced

by reindeerjumper



Series: Daddy Darcy [7]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, Daddy Darcy, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Fluff, Imagine your OTP, Mark Darcy as a dad is the best, OTP Feels, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: There are five times in Mark Darcy's life that he danced without hesitation. These are those five times.





	1. One Week After He Came Back from America for Bridget

**Author's Note:**

> This truly became a monster and I got carried away. I'm putting it into 5 chapters to make it more tolerable...but I love it either way.

It amazed Mark how hard and how quickly he had fallen for Bridget Jones. It was a far cry from his first impression of her--when she had met her at her parents’ house (her in a hideous floral dress that resembled a carpet, and he in an equally hideous reindeer jumper), they had both done a terrible job at showing the other their true selves. He had been stuffy, reserved, and closed off (which most people saw anyway), and she had been awkward and seemed like a braggart (braggart was a far cry from how she actually was, although the awkwardness was something he had come to be enamored with). 

Throughout the following year, though, Mark started to see Bridget for what she truly was--a woman with a huge heart, a penchant for getting herself into minor trouble, and someone who made his palms sweat while his heart threatened to thump straight out of his chest. He hadn't been this smitten with someone since…well, ever. Bridget was a breath of fresh air that blew the staleness from his life that he hadn't even realized had settled there. 

When Mark had trekked through the snow to buy Bridget a new diary, he hadn't expected to snog her senseless in the middle of a public walkway. She had just kind of,  _ thrown  _ herself at him, and the next thing he knew, he was kissing the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on in the middle of the street while snow fell around them. Even when Mark caught two elderly women gaping at them out of the corner of his eyes, he didn't feel compelled to stop. It was the first time something felt so right that nothing else mattered. This was  _ supposed  _ to happen, and he didn't want it to end. 

It had been a week since that moment, and it had been the best week of his life. Being inseparable with someone wasn't exactly Mark’s style, and truly it was impossible with his job, but he found himself thinking about her constantly. They had gone out to dinner a few times, grabbed drinks after work, gone to see a movie...but being the gentleman he was raised to be, Mark hadn't pushed sleeping with her. Of course it had happened after their incredibly public kiss (talk about being left breathless), but it wasn't something he wanted to push on her after that. 

Considering their rocky start, Mark wanted to get to know Bridget better. He couldn't stave himself from kissing her, or holding her hand, but he  _ could _ refrain from getting to know her in the biblical sense. Relief came in just his memories of her, which he was thankful for.  _ There will be plenty of time for the real thing, _ he had thought to himself when the urges surfaced. 

On one night in particular, Mark made it a point to really connect with Bridget. He had suggested they stay in at her flat, and he offered to cook dinner (especially after the whole “blue soup fiasco”). He made them a simple meal of sautéed pork chops with risotto, but Bridget made him feel like he was a cordon bleu chef. They had talked throughout the meal, the conversation flowing easily and comfortably. 

More than once, Bridget's foot had brushed against his underneath the table, and it felt like a lightning strike rifling through his body each time.  _ I wonder if she feels the same way, _ he thought. By the end of the meal, Mark’s body was electrified with want and desire. He tried to busy himself with cleaning up the dishes, but Bridget interrupted his attempts.

“Let's just go sit in the living room. That stuff can wait,” she had said, extending her hand out to his. He was useless against her gravitational pull, so with a reluctant look at the dirty dishes on her table, he sighed and took her hand. The sparks he had felt at dinner were palpable as their palms splayed together...he was surprised he couldn't see them. Bridget led him over to the couch and sat down, curling her feet neatly underneath her. She patted the spot next to her, where he sank down. 

Bridget scooted closer to Mark, her knees touching his leg where he had crossed them. Reflexively, Mark placed his hand on her knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. She smiled at him. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the soft music that had been playing through dinner, and Bridget laid her head against his shoulder. Mark readjusted his arm to loop it around her, pulling her in so she could lay her head on his chest instead. 

From this angle, he could smell her perfume and feel her heartbeat. It amazed him how easily Bridget fit into the crook of his arm. Before he could stop himself, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. It was such an intimate, comfortable thing to do this early on in a relationship, but he couldn't help himself. Bridget lifted up her head to look at him, a smile playing on her lips. 

“I'm so glad I was wrong about you,” she murmured. 

“You mean I'm  _ not  _ dull and unpleasant?” he joked, giving her a squeeze. Bridget buried her head into his shoulder with an embarrassed groan. “You won't let me live that down, will you?” came her muffled response. Mark laughed. “Probably not,” he teased. 

Bridget’s head popped back up and she trained her blue eyes on his honey brown ones. “Honestly, though, I want to know so much more about you now. Like, did you sleep with a nightlight when you were little, and what's your favorite kind of dessert? Ohh, and who was your first kiss? And where? I feel like there's so much to learn about you…” she trailed off, cupping the line of his jaw in her hand. 

Mark felt his heart flutter at her touch and he couldn't help smiling. “Luckily,” he began, “I can answer those questions. First of all, I slept with a nightlight until I was 10, but I blame that on the size of my bedroom. It was quite cavernous and the shadows that threw on the walls were...gruesome. As for my favorite dessert, I don't have much of a sweet tooth. That being said, though, I can't say no to a bowl of rocky road ice cream.” 

Bridget was smiling at him as he spoke, her smile growing with each detail she desired. He smiled back at her, taking a second to lean forward and kiss her gently on the lips. “Despite the  _ best  _ kiss of my life being the one we shared last week, my  _ first  _ kiss was during a holiday break from Eton. I think I was 15 at the time? I didn't even know girls knew I existed, but I went to a holiday party one of my hometown friends was having, and there was a girl there. I had seen her when we were younger, and she was quiet and awkward, but apparently she... _ flourished _ while I was away. At some point we were underneath some mistletoe and she, well, kissed me. I thought I'd die--I definitely wasn't prepared and it took me by complete surprise.”

Bridget laughed at him. “I'm glad you survived, and apparently have had practice since then. Because I have to bloody well agree that last week’s kiss was the best ever,” she said as her eyes sparkled. 

“I agree...it's bad enough that I have a gherkin thrusted up my arse. Can you imagine if I died of embarrassment when a girl kissed me, too?”

Bridget flushed bright red as she playfully slapped him on the chest. “Jerk,” she said, giving me a smirk. Mark smiled and said, “I'm sure there's plenty to know about you, too.”

“Such as?”

“I don't know...you're putting me on the spot.” 

“Mark, with a brain like yours, I'm sure you can come up with something more creative than ‘I don't know’.”

“Fine.” Mark looked around Bridget’s flat, struggling to think of something to ask her. The radio was now playing “Fools Rush In”, and an idea struck Mark. “Do you like to dance?” he asked Bridget. She rolled her eyes dramatically and said, “Duh.”

Mark stood, smoothing out his shirt, and offered Bridget his hand. “In that case, may I have this dance?” he said. She looked up at him with mixed emotions--curiosity and surprise were wrinkled between her brows, but joy was spread across her smile. “Really?” she asked. Mark nodded, and Bridget took his hand. “Nice boys really  _ are  _ full of surprises,” she murmured as Mark led her to the middle of her living room. 

The dance between them started off innocently enough. Mark had his hand on her hip, his other hand enveloping her fingers. They swayed to the beat, looking at each other as if it were the first time they'd seen each other. Mark studied Bridget’s face, looking at the smooth skin of her cheeks, the slope of her nose, the pout of her lips. He didn’t want to miss a single detail of it. She was looking back with as much hunger as he was looking at her with. He could feel a blush rising on his cheeks at the attention.

Mark could feel Bridget slipping her palm over his, memorizing the length of his fingers and the breadth of his hand. She had a pout on her face as she fixated on a small spot on his palm. “What happened here?” she asked, running a finger over a small scar that had blossomed on the soft part of his hand. For someone who works mainly with their intellect and very rarely with their hands, the raised bump of the scar must have been clearly evident.

“Remember when I punched Daniel Cleaver?”

“Of course I do.”

“Apparently I cut my hand on a bit of glass when he threw me through the window of the Greek restaurant. It left a scar.”

“You poor darling,” Bridget whispered, pressing her lips against the scar. The lightning flashed through Mark’s body at the gentleness of her kiss, and he couldn’t help himself.

“I busted this knuckle, too...on his obnoxiously large teeth,” he continued, offering her a look at the second knuckle of his right hand. Bridget threw her head back and laughed. “I suppose you want me to kiss that, too?” she said teasingly. “I mean, it couldn’t hurt,” he replied as he closely inspected the knuckle in question. “Give it here,” she said softly, taking his hand in hers to press another kiss against it. 

Mark smiled and said, “Much better.” Bridget smiled up at him, her face shining.  “You’re awfully handsome, you know that? I thought so from the second I saw you...until I saw your jumper,” she said, cocking her head at an angle.

Mark laughed. “It’s really that bad?” he asked innocently. 

“Is what really that bad?” 

“The jumper.”

“Oh. Yes. I can say with total confidence that yes, it’s really that bad.”

Before he could stop himself, Mark pulled her into his chest, dropping her hand and looping his other arm around her waist. He felt her arms snake up his back as she embraced him, laying her head against his chest and nuzzling against him. He held her closer, placing his lips against her head and letting them rest there. He wanted to drink up her whole effervescence. It was like a drug, the way she made him feel. He could feel his eyelids slipping as he allowed himself to kiss the top of her head, unsure if the music was even still playing. 

They were still swaying in time with each other, their heartbeats in sync. “You’re wonderful,” he murmured drunkenly into her hair. She pulled back to look at him, and he looked down at her with desire. Without saying a word, Bridget stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him with much more gusto than she had earlier. He felt her lips against his, opened and eager. Their teeth clashed while her tongue sought out his. She ran it against his top lip, using it to pull his bottom lip into her mouth and nibbling on it. He groaned as he stopped dancing. This was the kind of kiss that needed his full attention, and that’s what he wanted to give it.

Bridget broke the kiss apart after many tantalizing seconds of build-up, breathless and flushed. “What do you say we take this to the bedroom?” she breathed, pushing some of the hair out of her face that had fallen across her brow. 

  
Mark smiled and said, “No need to ask me twice.”


	2. Three Months After the Christening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What _really_ happened when Mark stepped out of his office after Bridget's news (because, let's be honest, WE NEED ANSWERS).

When Bridget showed up to the Inns of Court at the beginning of September, Mark was taken aback. He truly had given up hope of seeing her again, after her abrupt departure the morning after their reunion. He had retreated back into his work routine, licking his wounds and reserving himself to the fact that he and Bridget just weren't destined to work. It broke his heart, in all honesty, but Mark had suffered enough to allow himself to pine. 

Despite his best attempts to close his emotions off, Mark couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that he couldn't suppress upon seeing her in the balcony of the courtroom. The entire walk back to his chamber left him awkwardly grappling with his desire to grab her hand, just for the familiarity of it. He was thankful for the distraction of his court robes in his arms to give his hands something to do.

Upon returning to his office, Bridget began with awkward conversation. He had known her long enough at this point that she was deviating from the reason for her being there--she wouldn't have come all the way to Inns of Court to make small talk. Mark finally had to give her a stern, “Bridget,” to get her to finally spill the reason she was there. 

When she had blurted out, “I'm pregnant,” Mark’s heart had felt like it had fallen to the floor. The pull in his gut was horrendous and his palms immediately began sweating.  _ Of course she's found someone...she always wanted a family, and I couldn't give that to her. Mustn't show my disappointment, though.  _

He had awkwardly offered help, as if he was the only one in the world who could provide for her and her unborn child. Bridget had given him a look of confusion before she said, “I’m three months pregnant?” The wave of desperation that had washed over Mark was consuming him, and it took him a few seconds to look through the murkiness to realize that she was telling him that  _ he  _ was the father. Instantly, the tide of emotion changed to one of elation. 

Not used to such an overwhelming rush of emotion, Mark had given her awkward, conversational snippets before excusing himself to the hallway.  _ Bloody hell,  _ he thought as he closed the wooden door behind him.  _ I'm going to be a father. _ Before he could stop himself, he allowed a shiver to run through his body.  _ Me, Mark Darcy, a father!  _ There was now a grin on his face that he couldn't suppress, and the shiver ran through his body again. 

The joy he was feeling couldn't be contained. His whole body wanted to rejoice. His shoulders started shimmying and he could feel his hips swaying. The next thing he knew, his hands were together as he brought it around town, totally incapable of keeping his feet from moving. He allowed the ripple of excitement to flow freely through his body, the unheard song of jubilation exploding in his head. 

  
He was just finishing the 360-degree turn when he realized that he wasn't alone. Giles was staring at him, a look of utter disbelief on his face. Mark faltered, the heat under his collar rising. “Right. Well,” Mark said quickly. He turned on his heel, trying desperately to rid himself of the embarrassment now crackling down his nerves, as he opened the door back up to let Bridget know  _ just  _ how happy he was. 


	3. Two Months After Will’s Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet little moment, based on [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vSbkbXheqEU</a>this%20song</a>.)

It had been two months since the best day of Mark’s life. Bridget had brought their beautiful blue-eyed son into the world with just as much clamor and noise as he would have expected from her, and every tooth mark that had been etched into his wrist was worth it. From that second forward, Mark had been in a bubble of absolute domestic bliss. He had the one woman that he ever wanted and an exceptional son to show for it.

They had gone down to Grafton Underwood for the Spring bank holiday, bringing baby William on his maiden voyage to the place where his parents had met. Mark and Bridget planned to stay with Bridget’s parents for the weekend, allowing the Joneses to enjoy their new grandson and hopefully take some time for themselves. Pam and Colin were beside themselves with adoration at the bundle of joy that Mark and Bridget had produced, and that afforded Mark and Bridget a chance to grab lunch, just the two of them, and spend a quiet afternoon together.

It was early evening when they returned to Pam and Colin’s home, and it was awfully quiet in the house. For fear of waking the baby if he was asleep, Mark and Bridget didn’t call out their arrival as they walked through the front door. Sliding their shoes off at the door, Bridget put a finger to her lips and motioned for him to follow her into the living room. Mark could catch the faint sound of music playing, but clearly it was something that Bridget recognized.

They crept down the foyer hallway and stopped at the entryway to the living room. Inside, Pam and Colin were sitting side-by-side on the couch as Colin held baby William in his hands. They were both looking down at his angelic face as a record spun in the corner of the room. Mark looked over to Bridget, who had her hand to her throat and tears glistening in her eyes. 

_ May you always walk in sunshine, _

_ Slumber warm when night winds blow. _

_ May you always live with laughter, _

_ For a smile becomes you so… _

“Bridget,” he whispered in her ear, “are you OK?” She looked up at him, the tears shimmering on her eyelashes. She nodded as she put an arm around his waist. Mark placed an arm protectively around her back as she said, “My parents used to sing this to us when we were little. Some old tune by The McGuire Sisters...the words are lovely. I guess I just wasn’t expecting them to do be doing the same with Will when we walked in.”

Mark looked down at her with understanding and adoration. His heart swelled with pride in her and his son. Nothing could bring him down from the familial high that he was on as he listened to a few more verses. It really was a lovely song, and he found himself pulling Bridget in tighter to him. She was practically buried in his chest, and he could feel a wet patch from her tears soaking through his shirt. Mark placed a finger under her chin and pulled it up towards him. He kissed her gently, then placed a hand on her waist. 

Mark and Bridget danced in the foyer while her parents sang to their son in the next room. They steadily rocked as Bridget whispered the words to the song that was spinning on the record player, and Mark made a promise to always remember the verses that were echoing through the house.

_ And may you always be a dreamer-- _

_ May your wildest dream come true. _

_ May you find someone to love _

_ As much as I love you... _


	4. The Day of Mark & Bridget’s Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liquid courage is always a good choice when it comes to dancing.

Mark Darcy did not readily dance in public, let alone in front of hundreds of people. Usually it involved a whiskey (or two, or three) to lower his inhibitions and a ready and willing partner (which Bridget always was). She had dragged him out onto the dance floor every so often at social gatherings, and he had braved each time with a tight-lipped smile. Rarely did Bridget risk making him groove to a fast-paced song--she knew it made him sweat through his shirt from embarrassment, and he was sure, deep down, that the same went for her--and for that he was thankful.

On his wedding day, though, he knew that all of the dodging and excuse-making he was used to when it came to dancing in public flew out the window. He was committed to make the day special for Bridget, and if that meant shaking a tailfeather or two at their reception to keep the smile on her face, he was determined to do so. 

The bottle of Maker’s Mark that Jack had given to him as a wedding gift didn’t hurt either.

Their first dance had gone off without a hitch--Mark reveled in the moment, holding Bridget close to him as “At Last” played. They had spent weeks deciding on whether or not it was a corny choice, seeing as it was a popular first dance song, but Bridget had finally arrived to the conclusion that it was an appropriate choice, seeing that it took them 15 years to get to where they belonged. She had looked up at him adoringly, quietly singing the lyrics as her eyes shone. He didn’t mind kissing her in front of all these people, and he did so often in the three minutes that the song played. 

From there on out, Mark enjoyed himself. He fetched cocktails for himself and Bridget, and snuck away with Jack on more than one occasion to take a swig from the bottle of Maker’s Mark that Jack had stashed behind a tree. It felt good to let loose, and he was actually enjoying himself immensely. Bridget had coaxed him out onto the floor for the occasional slow dance, nuzzling herself into his chest as he enjoyed the feeling of her waist in his hand.

By the time 10:00 hit, Mark had shed his suit jacket, rolled his sleeves up, and had stopped caring about the lock of hair that kept falling into his eyes. He had managed to build up a perfect buzz, the alcohol humming through his veins and plastering a smile on his face for most of the night. Whenever he caught a glimpse of Bridget--his  _ wife _ \--his couldn’t help the devilish smirk that crossed his lips. He wanted his hands on her, his lips on hers, and he freely allowed himself to skim a hand across her backside or kiss the soft spot behind her ear when she was nearby. The gasps that these little tokens of affection caused made his blood boil. 

“I love you, Mrs. Darcy,” he said in a gravelly voice, putting his arm around her waist to pull her close to him so that he could give her earlobe an affectionate nip. Bridget looked up at him, sliding her hand into his back pocket as she did so to give the curve of his arse a little squeeze. “And I love you, Mr. Darcy, even if you  _ are _ pissed,” she replied with amusement in her eyes. 

Mark narrowed his eyes and smiled. “The only thing I'm drunk on is love,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her.

“And maybe whisky,” a voice said behind them sheepishly. Bridget turned around to see Jack standing behind them, his suit jacket also long gone and his sleeves rolled up, with what looked like a manhattan in his hand. 

“Ah,” Bridget said knowingly. “Your doing, I suppose?” Jack grinned and raised his glass to her. “I had to help him calm the nerves,” Jack said, clapping Mark on the back. 

“You can always count on Jack,” Mark said, putting a finger against the side of his nose as he closed one eye. Bridget laughed and said, “Yes, I've heard that before. Mr. Qwant, I think you owe me a dance for getting my husband drunk.” 

“I think you owe us both a dance,” Mark chimed in, grabbing both of their hands and dragging them towards the dance floor. Jack and Bridget exchanged surprised glances as they allowed Mark to pull them across the crowd of people that were now mobbing the front of the DJ booth. 

“Bridget, it's our song!” Mark exclaimed, recognizing the bass line of the song booming across the floor. Jack shot her a look, raising his eyebrow as if to say,  _ Really?  _ Bridget shrugged and said, “He isn't lying. I can't hear ‘Gangnam Style’ without thinking of Mark.” Mark was now beaming at her as he ran a hand through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame the flyaway strand across his forehead. 

“Teach me?” he asked her, holding out his hand. “Gladly,” she replied. “First, we need to loosen this,” she continued, grabbing at the tie around his neck. “Next, you just need to feel the beat and follow my lead.”

With Bridget’s guidance, Mark danced with reckless abandon. He didn't care about his gangly limbs getting in the way of other people, and he didn't care if he was off a step or two. All that he cared about was the smile on his wife’s face as she watched him get down and dirty on the dance floor. A crowd had gathered around them as they danced with Jack, Shazzer shouting the loudest and whooping excitedly. 

  
By the end of the song, the sweat soaking through Mark’s shirt was a far cry from embarrassment. The entire dance had been worth it, just to see the joy on Bridget’s face...even if his head would have to pay for it tomorrow.


	5. The Afternoon of Will’s 11th Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark's come a long way since the first time he met Bridget, and he has his son to thank for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially inspired by Colin Firth's wife, Livia, being a huge Springsteen fan.

Mark could hardly believe that his son was turning 11-years-old. William had grown from a small, squishy faced babe to a lanky, curly haired preteen. He loved reading, and cricket, and classic rock music. He had top marks in school and loads of friends, and frankly, Mark couldn't be more proud of his son. Will was a loyal friend, a hard worker, exceptionally bright, and totally uninhibited in his relationships. The last bit was what Mark was probably most thankful for--he had been a painfully shy preteen, closed off from the things that truly interested him for fear of embarrassment, and luckily, for Will, his son didn't inherit any of those traits. 

In all honesty, Mark had learned a lot from Will. He had learned to let his guard down a little, and to allow himself some fun every once in awhile. When he would drive Will to school in the morning, the two of them would jam out to the classic rock station, Will usually on air guitar and Mark surprising himself by knowing most of the lyrics.

Mark was now on his way home from chambers, his present for Will in his trouser pocket. He was quite proud of himself with what he had gotten his son--Bridget wasn't even privy to the gift, which meant that Mark had come up with it entirely on his own. 

Bruce Springsteen was coming to  Wembley Stadium, and Mark had sprung for tickets for just the two of them. He knew Bridget wouldn't mind being left out--she loved when the two of them spent time together. Mark could barely contain his excitement at giving Will the tickets--Bruce was their favorite car jam choice. He smiled as he slid his key into the lock of the front door. 

Upon entering the house, he could hear music blasting from what seemed like the kitchen. “Bridget?” he called out as he set his briefcase down next to the door. “Will?” There was no answer from either, so he made his way into the kitchen. He quickly stepped back out though, to avoid getting knocked down. 

Bridget had slid across the kitchen floor, clearly engrossed in the song that her and Will were listening to. As she slid by Mark, she realized that he was home and her face broke into a grin. “Hello, darling!” she called out, stopping her momentum to rush back and give him a quick peck on the lips. “Hello,” he said, taking in the scene before him. 

At this point, Mark had eleven years to get used to the mayhem that was now his home. Bridget had moved in only a few months after Will’s arrival, and from that point on, the house was rarely quiet, always abuzz with her laughter or some kind of shenanigans that her and Will were getting into. 

Today’s mayhem turned out to be a full-on rock session in the kitchen. Mark recognized Springsteen’s “Rosalita” on full blast as Will stood on top of the kitchen table, his arms extended over his head as he belted out the lyrics. Bridget was playing what seemed to be the air saxophone, and Mark just soaked it all in. It seemed that the celebration was in honor of Bridget’s birthday gift to Will--he was wearing a leather jacket that was almost the exact replica of Bruce Springsteen’s.

“Dad! C’mon!” Will said excitedly, waving his arms for Mark to join in. Mark grinned and shook his head. “Really?” he asked, already making way to slip the suit jacket off of his arms. “Don’t be a party pooper!” Bridget chimed in, her face flushed and hair a mess. “Fine, fine,” Mark said, folding the suit jacket in half and laying it on the arm of one of the chairs.”But first, Will needs one more thing,” he continued, pulling his necktie up and off. 

Will grinned at his father as Mark motioned for him to lean forward. “Careful now,” Mark said, unable to stop himself from ensuring his son’s safety, despite the level of chaos that was ensuing around him. Will put his hands on Mark’s shoulders as he leaned forward, and Mark ceremoniously placed the tie around Will’s head, tightening the knot so that it sat at a rakish angle. “There we are,” Mark said, stepping back to admire his son. Will was beaming down at his dad, and his only response was, “Cool,” before flinging his arms out in front of him to mime the drum solo blasting over the speaker.

Bridget had sauntered over to Mark, her air saxophone still in-hand. “Let me just get rid of this,” she said, miming throwing the saxophone to the side, “so that I can do  _ this _ .” She reached up to unbutton the top 3 buttons of Mark’s shirt, and she splayed the collar out so that a bit of his chest shown. “ _ Much _ more appropriate,” she said with a wink. Mark stooped down to kiss the smile on her lips, placing his hands on her hips to gyrate with her to the music. She threw her head back in a laugh, looping her arms around his neck as she danced with him. 

Mark couldn’t help himself as he sang along unabashedly. The tickets that were still in his pants pocket could wait-- _ this _ moment was worth waiting for. His son was joyously jamming out on his own stage, and he had his wife in his arms, making him feel like he was 17 again. He could feel the smooth skin of Bridget’s hips underneath her shirt, and her hair was cascading loosely around her shoulders as she swung her head from side to side. They were now singing at each other, their faces only inches apart.

Suddenly, Bridget broke away from him to belt out, “I’M COMING TO LIBERATE YOU, CONFISCATE YOU, I WANT TO BE YOUR MAN!” Her arms were out at her sides, head thrown back, voice at top volume. Mark laughed openly at her, soaking up her joy and her energy, reveling in the way their son was her perfect carbon copy. 

He stood back to catch his breath, his hands on his hips, as he watched the two of them. This was his family, and despite it being a far cry from what he had envisioned for himself 20 years ago, he couldn’t imagine it being any other way. 


End file.
